


In Repair

by crna_macka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Corporal Punishment, F/F, Femslash February, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3429053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crna_macka/pseuds/crna_macka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We're always in repair."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Repair

**Author's Note:**

> 20\. ~~Quote~~ Song lyrics fill for the [28-day challenge](http://the-100-femslash.tumblr.com/post/109795013900/do-you-write-fics-do-you-love-the-100-are-you-a) \- "In Repair" by Our Lady Peace, not the John Mayer song.
> 
> Dovetails with [Torn](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3422510)

_Take this time to figure it out_  
 _The wire, the fuse, the things that you doubt_  
 _The wheels, the air, the metal, the mouth_  
 _Something, something, something_  
 _-"In Repair," Our Lady Peace_

 

"These are going to scar, aren't they," Raven sighs as the doctor goes through her routine of checking the progress of the post-torture healing. The knife cuts _are_ going to scar, because they don't have the supplies to prevent it anymore and the Grounders definitely wouldn't either, given how they decorate themselves. It's hard enough just keeping things clean around here, where sometimes setting up luxuries like water filtration systems for a few hundred people has to take a backseat to breaking into an underground fortress full of genocidal pre-Ark throwbacks. 

Abby hasn't bothered answering her, just rests a hand on Raven's knee to let her know she's done. Raven sighs again and moves stiffly for her jacket. She's too sore from the day's work to actually put it or her shirt on, when she knows she'll just be crawling into bed from here. She settles it over her shoulders and wearily watches Abby collect her gear.

It's okay, maybe. Some kind of poetic justice, linking her with Finn forever in a way his little metal tokens couldn't. The folded bird is gone, lost somewhere in smoke and ash.

It's forgotten when Abby stoops for the discarded bandages and her shirt rides up. Just enough for Raven to spot a shadowed strip of skin disappearing under the fabric. 

She can't help that she's still staring when Abby turns around to face her. She knows that kind of marking from the days when the Ark was all they had. 

"Sorry," she says, when Abby is clearly waiting for an explanation. "I forgot you've got some, too."

Abby's got a way of quirking her eyebrows in something less than surprise and giving a half-smile full of dry amusement and camaraderie. "Some?" She shifts her portable kit to one hand and uses the other to lift the side of her shirt. 

Raven can see less than half her back, but the scars from security's stupid shock sticks are stark in contrast to the smooth curve of Abby's spine. "More than me," she responds rather than letting herself get caught up in looking.

"It's not a competition," Abby says. Her tone is light enough to take any sting out of the reminder. 

Raven tilts her head and doesn't look back down. "Good. I'm not used to losing."

The noise Abby makes is something less than a laugh. When it's gone, neither says anything, and neither moves. Abby doesn't leave and Raven doesn't rearrange the bed. The sounds of the camp at night - the crunch of boots, crackle of fires, lull of low voices - are too muted to disrupt the thickening stillness.

It feels like there's cotton in her mouth when Raven finally tries to speak. "Can I see the rest?" She hesitates, shrugs awkwardly. "You see mine all the time."

She can't read Abby's expression right now and if she's honest, she doesn't really want to. She isn't asking Abby to take off her shirt, just even the field. Put them on equal footing. Something. She knows it's _something_ and not too out of line.

Raven's still arguing with herself and embarrassed that she even asked when Abby sets the kit down and comes to sit near her.

"Fair enough, right?" Abby murmurs. With her shirt gathered under her arms and back to Raven, her lashing scars are on display.

Raven swallows against the tightness in her throat. The marks are darker than the surrounding skin with a distinctly puckered texture, concentrated in a triangle that flares from the middle of her back to the edge of her hips. Raven brushes her thumb over the one marring the small of Abby's back without thinking.

"We've got one that matches." Covering for her second lapse this evening, she gathers Abby's hair and pushes it over her shoulder, away from the rise of the higher scars. But then it's too easy to get distracted, baring the woman's neck like that.

She drops her hand to the pallet's edge as though nothing happened. As if the air isn't inexplicably cold in the absence of contact. Abby seems to be oblivious to Raven's attempt to withdraw. She lets her shirt down again and leans into Raven, shoulder to shoulder. Raven braces behind her in instinctive support. 

"None of us are going to get through this without scars," Abby says, as though it's an admission she doesn't want to make. 

"The war?" Raven measures her breaths.

Abby nods. "The war, whatever comes after it."

"Oh. _Life_ ," Raven clarifies cynically. 

Abby swats harmlessly at Raven's nearest knee, but neither one laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Ooops. I promise the next one won't be titled "Glycerine."


End file.
